


Wounds By Hearsay

by Buffintruda



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Aro Spec Character, Aromantic Character, Gen, Much Ado About Nothing, Other, Portland Oregon, failure to set people up together, it's only mentioned, lithromantic character, red and black cafe, though it did inspire part of this, you can tell i'm very bitter about the beatrice/benedict plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffintruda/pseuds/Buffintruda
Summary: Accidentally overhearing someone say that your crush likes you would normally be a relief. To Grantaire, it feels like the end of the world.





	

_ Of this matter _

_ Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, _

_ That only wounds by hearsay. _

—Much Ado About Nothing

 

“How do these look?” Cosette held a pair of earrings, which were made out of fork heads, up to her face.

“You look beautiful,” Marius said adoringly.

“I wouldn’t trust what he says,” Grantaire added from the other side of the stall where he was examining a pair of joke glasses made from flour sifters. “You could be holding up dead slugs and he would give the same response.”

“That’s because you’re always beautiful,” Marius said with perfect honesty.

Cosette gave him a cheesy grin and Floreal rolled her eyes. “I mean, those earrings are pretty weird, but I think you could pull them off,” she said.

“Perfect. I think I’ll buy them,” Cosette decided.

“This Saturday Market has the weirdest things. Other than Cosette, who even buys this stuff?” Floreal wondered, poking at a windchime made entirely from eating utensils. “I’ve been to the one in Vancouver a few times, and it mostly has fresh produce and like, goat milk soap.” 

It was Floreal’s first time at the Portland Saturday Market, a far grander event than in her hometown of Vancouver, Washington. Because of her friendship with Grantaire, she had crossed the river to join him and a couple of his university friends to visit the one in Portland.

“You’d be surprised,” Grantaire told her. While Cosette bought the earrings, he stepped outside the stall, his eye caught by some paintings selling at prices far too high for Grantaire to even think about affording but were incredibly beautiful. No longer blocked by the stall’s cover, the sun beamed brightly into his eyes.

“There isn’t a cloud in the sky,” Grantaire grumbled to Marius who had wandered vaguely after him. “It’s unnatural.”

“It  _ is _ summer,” Marius pointed out. “So it’s not actually that uncommon. And at least you don’t have to worry about getting sunburnt.”

“Hey,” Floreal interrupted. “I know that you’ll be caught up with that art for a while, so the rest of us will just go on and we’ll meet at the end of the row, okay?”

“I’m not  _ that _ much of an art nerd,” Grantaire muttered as he watched Floreal drag Marius and Cosette to the next stall.

He spent a minute or two admiring the paintings and had a short conversation with the artist. But he didn’t want to stay too long and lose his friends. So he moved on, trying to find the familiar faces in the crowd.

Grantaire nearly walked passed them, hidden as they were among purses made from old book covers. They hadn’t noticed him, and were in fact, in the middle of a conversation.

“—hear about Enjolras and Grantaire?” Floreal was saying. Grantaire paused and did not go up to them.

“I’ve heard lots of things?” Marius said uncertainly, as if wondering which one she was talking about. Grantaire was curious about what they would be talking about behind his back. He couldn’t imagine what they could say; he and Enjolras had reached a truce of sorts a month ago and nothing major had happened since. Still. It was probably best left unknown. He wasn’t going to eavesdrop.

“Enjolras is head-over-heels in love with Grantaire,” Floreal said.

Grantaire, who had been about to walk into their field of view froze.

“Really?” Cosette said, with what Grantaire felt was not near enough shock or horror.

“Oh yes,” Floreal continued. “It is hard to believe, isn’t it? But I heard it from the man himself. He was wondering how to be on better terms with Grantaire, because you know, I’m his friend, but not exactly a part of your friend group so different perspective and all. I asked him why he cared so much, and he sort of blushed and stammered. I pressed harder and he admitted it.”

This must have happened at the most recent Les Amis meeting Floreal had gone to, over a week ago. Living in a different city than the rest of them, she was not a regular member of their club, but she did go often enough. Grantaire remembered seeing Floreal and Enjolras talk then, but he had no idea it was about this.

“Wow,” Marius said. “Who would have thought?”

Which was why Grantaire had thought this time for sure, he would be safe, that Enjolras wouldn’t like him that way. Because there was no way it was true. It couldn’t be true. Floreal  _ had _ to be mistaken. Just the mere thought of it felt heavy and choking. The thought of Enjolras wanting something more from him. Something more in a romantic way, at least.

“I mean, it’s kind of obvious if you watch him. But that’s not all,” Floreal said, and Grantaire’s heart plummeted further. “I asked Courfeyrac about it, and he said that there had been some feelings going on for awhile. But they really grew during the rally.”

“The one a few weeks ago where Grantaire pushed Enjolras out of the way of the violent protester?” Cosette asked.

“Yes! Haven’t you noticed how well they’ve gotten along since? And Enjolras’s trying so hard to get closer to Grantaire. He can be so awkward, it’s kind of adorable. But Enjolras is terrified of telling Grantaire. Fear of it not being returned,” Floreal said. 

Grantaire wanted to laugh because it was so, so horribly ironic. Instead, he kept quiet, because now that he knew about this, he had to know more.

“Or at least, that’s what Courfeyrac says, and from what I’ve seen, there’s no one who knows Enjolras’s emotions better,” she continued.

“I don’t blame him,” Marius murmured. “Have you seen how Grantaire acted around him before? It’s better now, but he obviously doesn’t like Enjolras much.”

“Yeah,” Floreal agreed. “It’s a shame because they’d make a really good couple. Balance each other out, you know? And Enjolras loves Grantaire very deeply.”

Suddenly Grantaire couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to hear how he should date Enjolras, didn’t want to hear about everything that the other felt about him. He didn’t want to stand there, listening to Floreal bring ruin to everything good he had thought he had in his life. Grantaire felt too numb and turbulent to care that his mind might be exaggerating the worst outcome of this.

“Hey, there you are,” Grantaire said, walking around the shelf, using every bit of skill he had at hiding his emotions to cover up what he was feeling now. 

“Hello, Grantaire,” Marius said, with an odd expression on his face, and Grantaire knew that Marius was trying to process that  _ this _ was the person Enjolras was in love with.

It wasn’t enough to have them stop talking about it, Grantaire realized. He didn’t want to be around any of them at the moment, while they stared at him and judged him and twisted their view of him just a little with this new piece of information. He wanted to think about it, he wanted to forget about it, he didn’t know what he wanted. But he didn’t want to be there. “I just remembered that I promised Joly I would clean up our house for the movie night this evening, so I should be heading back. So bye. See you then,” he blurted.

“I thought you came with us to escape that...?” Cosette said uncertainly. But Grantaire had already left them.

He walked as quickly as he could without seeming suspicious, dodging around people who had stopped or slowed to look at the merchandise. His mind was almost blank, being unable to accept what Floreal had said, yet unable to think of anything else.

His bike was where he had left it, right next to Marius’s and Cosette’s. With fingers shaky and his mind too distracted to focus on them, it took him a while to unlock the bike chain, but once that was done, he managed to concentrate almost entirely on not running over pedestrians or being run over by cars until he reached the house he shared with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. None of them were there, so he hid in his room, which seemed like the only safe and comforting place to go to, and hoped that his housemates would leave him leave him alone.

...

If asked whether his feelings towards Enjolras were romantic, Grantaire would not be able to give a straight answer. Many days, he imagined that he would simply shrug in response, unable to sum it up in a simple yes or no, and unwilling to provide a more elaborate explanation. Other times, he thought that ‘yes’ was a good enough answer, and though it wasn’t the entire truth, it wasn’t a lie either. On some days, it felt that it might as well be a ‘no’ in any way that mattered. 

In reality, when Musichetta asked him that question once with Joly and Bossuet nearby, he had just said that he was lithromantic and they had understood with such simple acceptance he nearly cried.

“Ohh,” Musichetta had said, with sudden understanding.

“That makes sense,” Joly added, and all three of them seemed to be content to leave it at that.

But with that dam burst, some other things which he usually hid behind an apathetic, careless mask, had come spilling out. Like his fear and guilt that he was failing to be a decent human being. Because he could never love someone back. Because he was proving the heartless bi stereotype right. Because he couldn’t even manage to be properly aro, only just enough to break people’s hearts (including his own). Because he was doomed to a life where he could never be satisfied.

The trio (which he had affectionately nicknamed Bolychetta) hugged Grantaire and told him that he owed nobody his love, and besides, there was more than romantic love. That he was strong to get through his failed attempts at relationships and figure out why. They said that he was an amazing human being, and that there was nothing wrong with following stereotypes, only with expecting them to always be true or invalidating someone because of them, and if anyone did that to him, that person would have the three of them to answer to. Grantaire couldn’t internalize the message, or even fully believe it, but he appreciated the effort.

Later that night, Joly and Bossuet had gone to bed early, and the way that Musichetta looked at him suggested that it had been planned to give them a private conversation.

“I’m aroflux, you know,” she said without preamble.

“Is that why all of you knew what lithromantic means?” Grantaire asked.

Musichetta laughed. “Yep. Neither Joly or Bossuet are aro-spec themselves, but they did some research after I told them, and they still keep up to date on a-spec stuff and learn more, even when it has nothing to do with me. They’re both so great.” She smiled fondly for a moment.

“But what I wanted to say was that as a fellow member of the aromantic spectrum, there is  _ nothing _ wrong with being aro-spec. There’s no ‘proper’ way to feel any emotions, so yours isn’t wrong or bad or whatever else you might think. I’m not saying that I know exactly what you’re feeling, because that’s not true, but I’ve also felt bad about my orientation. I thought that with my inconsistent and unpredictable feelings, I could never be enough for anyone so I would be better off alone, even though I didn’t want to be. When I got into a relationship with both Joly and Bossuet, I was relieved in some ways because then at least when I was fluxing aro, my partners would have someone else. But they weren’t like that. They always love and respect me no matter what I’m feeling towards them.

“I never thought I could have happiness in a largely romantic relationship, because I can get pretty romance repulsed, but here I am. It’s not conventional, but it makes everyone involved happy, so that’s all that really counts.”

“Don’t tell me that I’ll find happiness eventually too because there’s no way you can  _ know _ that,” Grantaire had said, almost irritated. She would not be the first to do so, nor would she likely be the last.

“Then I won’t. But there’s also no way to know that you  _ won’t  _ be happy. I can’t promise you that you’ll never have problems in your romantic life, or that everything will work out perfectly. But I  _ can _ promise that Joly, Bossuet, and I aren’t going anywhere. I can promise that what society considers a ‘normal’ primary relationship isn’t worth it, and whether you have a different kind of primary relationship or none at all, as long as it works for you it’s good. But I don’t think you need to ‘find’ happiness like it’s some sort of prize that once you have, you keep until you lose it again. It’s an emotion like any other, and it comes and it goes, and there are times where you generally feel more happiness and those are happy times, and there are times where you feel it less. And maybe I’m being presumptive, but I don’t think that you consider this an unhappy time in your life.”

Grantaire had been unable to come up with a good response to that. With her speech finished, Musichetta patted him on his back and told him that they needed to talk more about aro stuff some time and left.

It had honestly been nothing like what he had been expecting a coming out for being lithro to go. He didn’t expect it to go so smoothly a second time, if there ever was one. It rarely was, coming out as bi, which at least was known (if not always believed). Bolychetta had taken it so unquestioningly. He answered their original question vaguely, but they had accepted it fully and asked no further. The truth was, Grantaire had the same problems answering the question, even after the askers knew he was lithro.

Did he feel those things everyone said he would when he fell in love? He felt the stomach butterflies, the hyper consciousness of himself and the fuzziness of mind when he was near Enjolras, the tingle any time their skin made contact. But did it even count when he didn’t want the things that usually came with those feelings?

In past times, when he had felt similarly towards others, all of those feelings disappeared the instant the other person did anything too romantic towards him. Suddenly, he couldn’t stand the thought of dating them: holding hands was incredibly awkward and uncomfortable, and kissing was gross. Looking back, he wondered if he had really wanted to do that in the first place. He wanted touching and closeness, but did he actually want the other stuff or did he just assume that he did? The romance went away, but did all the things he wanted to do with that person go to, or were most of them never really there? It was hard to tell.

So he had broken up with them. And avoided them forever afterwards because he couldn’t handle the thought that that they might still like him, partially from repulsion and partly from guilt. Of course all except Marion hadn’t wanted to see him afterwards anyway. Most of them hated him, assuming that he had played with their heart then left once things got serious. And, in a way, hadn’t he?

After finding the word ‘lithromantic’ and realizing that he could never be happy in a romantic relationship, he avoided dating. But what he couldn’t avoid were crushes, nor could he avoid people’s romantic feelings for him, and the one time they coincided after his discovery ended in disaster. 

Grantaire didn’t want that with Enjolras. Enjolras was absolutely amazing and the last thing Grantaire wanted was to leave his life (much less be kicked out of it), but it wasn’t just that. There were also Les Amis to consider. Where they were, Enjolras was, but Grantaire had grown too close to too many of them and he didn’t know how he could keep them as his friends while avoiding Enjolras. If things went as badly as they did most of the time, Grantaire didn’t think he could just drop out of their life.

It wasn’t fair. Grantaire had thought he would be safe this time. When they first met, he knew that divine creature could never want anything to do with him. He’d purposefully annoyed and irritated Enjolras to make sure of that. And though by now he had learned that Enjolras was very human and could tolerate and even maybe like him a little, he had been just as certain that Enjolras would never like him romantically. Enjolras didn’t like anyone romantically to the point where everybody, including Enjolras himself, joked about his datemate being Democracy.

Grantaire should have left, the moment he thought he might feel something romantic towards Enjolras (which had been pretty early on). Except, even now, he knew that he never could have left for the same reasons why he didn’t want things to go badly now. His friends were too close to Enjolras’s friends. And at the time he was certain it couldn’t end up like this. Only, he hadn’t been right and now everything was wrong and upside down and he had no idea what to do.

”Grantaire? Are you awake?”Joly asked, knocking on his bedroom door.

“Yeah.” He had to stop sulking in his room and join his friends for a movie night, for starters, Grantaire figured. He could do that. Bolychetta would worry about him otherwise, and he didn’t want that. He would just have to go out and pretend nothing happened. He could do that. Grantaire was good at covering up his true feelings and thoughts. He could survive this night.

He left the room, and at first, things weren’t too bad. Everyone was already there and since there was a lot of them, it was easy to avoid Enjolras. They all chatted, loading food onto their plates and arguing about what movie to watch. Later, they would vote to decide.

“Rent!” shouted Courfeyrac. “I know you guys will love it!”

“ _ Another _ musical?” Marius groaned.

“Something classic, like Disney!” Jehan suggested enthusiastically. “Mulan is super queer, you guys have to see and tell me I’m right!”

“I don’t care as long as it’s not another social justice documentary,” Eponine grumbled. “Or any other kind of documentary, actually, because I know some of you would.”

Soon, they began to settle themselves in the living room. Grantaire chose his favorite spot on the sofa before anyone else could get to it. He almost jumped when the person who sat down next to him turned out not to be Jehan, who also often claimed the sofa, but instead, Enjolras. Grantaire’s heart did not slow after his initial shock, and he suddenly found it very hard to think clearly.

Enjolras smiled, a little shyly, their truce and resulting almost-friendship still too new to take for granted. “Hi,” he said.

Grantaire was momentarily distracted by the warmth in Enjolras’s eyes. They were calm now, and friendly. A year ago, he never would have thought that look could be directed at him. But then he suddenly remembered what Floreal had said and almost felt sick. His heart still pounded, but now it was anxious and terrified. Was that smile, that warmth, a kind of flirting? he wondered. To his helpless horror, he found himself blushing, giving off all the wrong impressions (except they were kind of right?). Unable to stand it, he jumped up and blurted out “I have to pee,” and left Enjolras looking confused and a little hurt.

After returning, Grantaire spent the duration of the movie in an armchair in the furthest corner from the sofa.

...

When Enjolras arrived at Les Amis Monthly Movie Night party with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, almost everybody else had already arrived. Even Gavroche was there, though he was too young to technically be part of the club. (He showed up so often that he might as well be.) In fact, as Enjolras looked around the room, he realized that the only person not there was Grantaire. This was concerning because Grantaire didn’t usually miss social Les Amis events, and this one was at the house he lived in. There could be many completely logical explanations, but Enjolras still felt disappointed and a little worried. He had been hoping to talk to Grantaire some more.

About a month ago, when Grantaire had gotten hurt trying to protect Enjolras, it had shocked him into realizing that he had grown to care for the other man. That though he disagreed so completely with his politics (or rather, the lack of), the person beyond that was someone who meant something to Enjolras. It forced him to face the fact that Grantaire was a decent person, as much as he tried to pretend he was not. Enjolras was ashamed afterwards that it took him so long to come to that conclusion. So now, he wanted to make amends. He wanted to start anew, to get to know the actual person, to start some form of friendship, and to do it right. But to do all that, he needed to be with Grantaire.

Bossuet came back with a box of Voodoo Donuts. As everyone crowded around him to grab the kind they wanted before anybody else did, Bossuet muttered, “You’d all better enjoy these. I had to wait over an hour in line for this.”

In the chaos, Enjolras noticed Grantaire follow Joly into the kitchen area. He brightened a little. Enjolras would have a chance to talk to him tonight.

“Hey, Courfeyrac? Do you think that Grantaire really wants to be my friend? What if he’s just humoring me? And I bother him by constantly trying?” Enjolras asked quietly, suddenly incredibly nervous. Even after the rally and the conversation afterwards where a few misconceptions were cleared up and a peace was agreed upon, Grantaire seemed awkward around him. Which made sense because it had been a sudden change, but what if it wasn’t the only reason? Maybe it would be better to not do anything, just in case. He didn’t want to push anything onto Grantaire.

Enjolras wasn’t good with understanding and knowing how to interact with individual people, so adding any pressure to a conversation made him stiff and uncomfortable at best, and panicky at worst. But Courfeyrac, his lifelong friend, was always there to help in any way possible. Combeferre, too, of course, but Courfeyrac was the one of their trio who was best at socializing.

“Grantaire looks up to you,” Courfeyrac explained reassuringly. “He’s used to distance and that’s why he’s acting strangely. But he likes you.”

“But how can you be sure?”

“Do you really think that he would act as if he liked you if he didn’t? He’s pretty open with negative feelings. It’s the positive ones that are more secret.”

Enjolras couldn’t think of a good response to that. Or a logical reason why Grantaire would only pretend to like him. It still didn’t erase all his doubts though.

“Enough hesitating!” Courfeyrac commanded, pushing him in the direction of the sofa. “Go platonically and non-sexually seduce that man!”

He continued walking of his own power after shooting a grateful (if a bit annoyed and amused) glance at Courfeyrac. Grantaire was on the sofa that he usually sat in during these occasions. Enjolras sat down softly, trying to not disturb him. Grantaire didn’t startle at the motion, and started to say, “Hey Je-.” When he turned around to face Enjolras, he stopped. “Oh.” It didn’t seem like a disappointed ‘oh’, only a surprised one.

“Hi,” Enjolras said, smiling awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say. In the past month, they had seen each other often at meetings and such, but had only held conversations a few times. This was still unknown territory and Enjolras was bad at navigating.

Silence stretched a few moments too long as Grantaire gazed at him. The surprise hadn’t quite faded, though now he also seemed mildly uncertain.

Enjolras felt the need to say something but all possible conversation starters suddenly fled his mind. Not that it mattered because a second later, something in Grantaire’s expression changed. He looked urgently uncomfortable and Enjolras had no idea what caused the change. He didn’t think he had done anything to make it that way. Should he have said something more? Should he not have approached Grantaire at all?

Grantaire turned red. “I have to pee,” he mumbled and fled, leaving Enjolras more confused and panicked.

When Grantaire came back out, he avoided Enjolras’s stare and sat on the opposite end of the room. Enjolras hadn’t even heard the toilet flush. Not that Grantaire had to explain his reasons for suddenly and unexpectedly not wanting to be around him, Enjolras thought, trying not to feel incredibly hurt.

“You left your food by Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said gently as he sat in the spot where Grantaire had been. Enjolras took his plate, and once that was safely in his lap, took Combeferre’s hand too. “We can talk later,” he promised, squeezing Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras nodded, grateful for his support. Still, he found it very difficult to pay any attention to the movie.

...

“Combeferre?” Enjolras asked a couple days later as he walked into their shared apartment. His roommate was currently talking with Courfeyrac on the couch. They instantly looked up at the sound of his voice, concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Courfeyrac asked, scooting over to make room. Enjolras took the offered spot and Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around his shoulders. It made him feel a little better, a little less alone and terrified, being curled up with his two favorite people.

“Do you think Grantaire likes me? As in romantically?”

“I don’t know,” Combeferre said, after a moment’s consideration. “It’s possible. Why do you ask? What happened?”

“I overheard Bahorel and Floreal, after the meeting earlier,” Enjolras said. Which Grantaire hadn’t been at. He hadn’t seen him since the movie night. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had gone home after it was over, but a few others, including Enjolras, stayed to socialize for a time. “She started talking, and Bahorel agreed, saying Grantaire does. That it was so obvious he knew even before Grantaire told him about it once, when drunk. He said that it was why Grantaire comes to the meetings of a club for a cause that he doesn’t even believe in, why he saved me at the rally. Bahorel said that it’s why he would sometimes antagonize me. For my attention. I didn’t want to believe it, but Bahorel said Grantaire told him and Floreal agreed with everything. And it all makes too much sense, doesn’t it?”

“It kind of does,” Courfeyrac admitted.

“It’s just, I thought we could become friends!” Enjolras said, frustrated. “I thought we were going in that direction, but now...”

“You don’t have to change anything, if you don’t want to,” Courfeyrac said. “If he hasn’t said anything or done anything obvious, maybe it isn’t a big deal for him. He doesn’t need you to know and is happy with nothing romantic.”

Enjolras shook his head, “Bahorel said I was so oblivious to all romance, and that’s true, so I didn’t notice him even when it was pretty clear. And apparently Grantaire likes me so much he’s terrified of telling me. Which doesn’t make sense because it’s not like our relationship could have gotten so much worse a few months ago, but I don’t understand romance.”

“You can’t trust everything one person says,” Combeferre pointed out. 

“Two people,” Enjolras interrupted. “Floreal said something about Grantaire saying something to her too.”

“Bahorel embellishes sometimes or could be mistaken. Floreal doesn’t even hang out around Grantaire or you that much. And you could have misinterpreted some of their words.”

“I don’t think I could be  _ that _ off,” Enjolras muttered.

“Still, what you heard wasn’t Grantaire’s description of what Grantaire thinks. You should talk to him,” Combeferre said.

“But what if I break his heart? I don’t want to hurt him. But there’s no way I can’t without putting myself in a position I’m not at all willing to be in. I want him to not have those feelings towards me at all so we could be friends and I wouldn’t hurt him and it would all be so much easier. I guess that’s selfish of me to want to change his feelings. I just have no idea what to do or how to handle this. I don’t understand romance.”

“I feel you,” Courfeyrac, who was quoiromantic, said. “You aren’t selfish, Enjolras. You’re being an individual with wishes of your own, and that’s fine, if you respect Grantaire as being the same. Which I know you do. But if you tell him, at least he knows the truth. Maybe he would have an easier time of moving on. At least whatever happens, miscommunication won’t make things worse, like it does in those rom com movies you hate. He would be able to make an informed decision, whatever that is. And you would too.”

“Yes,” Combeferre added. “If you really are fine with how things are, then you don’t have to talk to him about it. But if it’s important to you that he knows or that something is changed about your relationship, it would be best to talk.”

“Is it important to me?” Enjolras wondered, almost more to himself than his friends.

“Would you be fine with Grantaire always wondering, hoping that you like him back for the rest of the time you know each other?” Courfeyrac asked.

“No,” Enjolras said.

“There’s your answer.”

“I guess I need to figure out how to say it now,” Enjolras said.

“We’ll help you,” Combeferre promised.

...

So they did, until Enjolras had all of the words planned out. They had even come up with several responses to possible things Grantaire might say. Enjolras practiced saying them as if they were a speech. It was easier that way. He was good with speeches. Public speaking was easy if he knew what he wanted to say. Only, Grantaire was an individual and those were so much harder to talk to.

Figuring out what to say to Grantaire wasn’t too difficult, especially with the help of Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Actually doing it was much harder. Enjolras thought that the difficulty would lie in his own nervousness and fear, which would keep him from saying anything or make him say it all wrong. But he didn’t even have the chance to do that. 

Ever since that encounter at the movie night (and now he wondered if romance had played a part in the strangeness of it), he had not seen Grantaire for over a week. He had skipped all of the meetings, which was very unusual. Enjolras could think of no other explanation than that Grantaire was avoiding him.

Halfway through his second week of absences, Grantaire finally returned. Somehow, during the entire meeting, he managed to always be exactly where Enjolras was not, not even meeting his glance or staying still long enough for Enjolras to approach him and ask if everything was all right. By the end of the meeting, Enjolras was done with it. He was full of energy from their political discussions and frustration with Grantaire. There was no room for fear. He doubted that he could ever feel more ready to say what he needed to than at that moment.

So when Grantaire was getting ready to leave with his housemates, Enjolras broke off a conversation he was having with Feuilly (perhaps a little rudely, but it couldn’t be helped. He would apologize later) and stormed over to them.

“Grantaire,” he demanded. Grantaire had the expression of a cornered squirrel and Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta moved as if to shield him from Enjolras. He tried to readjust his face so he wouldn’t look as irritated, and instead more friendly. Or at least reassuring. “You’ve been avoiding me lately. But I really need to talk to you,” he said, softer this time. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Grantaire said, panicked. “I know what this is about, and no.”

“I don’t know that you actually know though,” he said. “And I’m confused enough that I would like to talk, in a straightforward fashion, to clear everything up.”

“I’m not subtly trying to pressure you into anything, but know that if you want to, any or all three of us could come with you, if that’s what you would like,” Bossuet offered. Enjolras would agree to anything to have this conversation, but he really hoped they wouldn’t be there too. He felt barely confident enough for an audience of one, and his courage was slipping away with every second.

“No,” Grantaire said. “I...” he hesitated, eyes darting between Enjolras and the door.

“I won’t force you, but I would also like to get this conversation over with instead of having it hang over our heads,” Enjolras said, hoping that this would change Grantaire’s mind. He couldn’t remember any more of the arguments he, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac had come up with to convince him.

“Fine,” Grantaire finally said, though he looked miserable. “I won’t be able to avoid this forever.”

...

All day, a week and a half after his last encounter with Enjolras, Grantaire couldn’t get his previous night’s dream out of his head. In it, he and Enjolras were, for some reason, sitting on a single chair together. There had been a reason for that, but once awake, Grantaire couldn’t remember it. Enjolras had taken his hand and smiled at him, wrapping his other arm around Grantaire’s back. He felt warmed, not only by body heat, but internally, by the happiness and love from both of them. At that moment, Grantaire couldn’t imagine anything more he could ask from life. Enjolras kissed his cheek, making everything feel fluttery and warm. But the moment his lips touched Grantaire’s lips, all those feelings, all the anticipation and contentedness vanished, leaving him with nothing. Lips, which moments ago had been tempting, were now merely lips, cool and a bit slimy. Where all the excitement and adoration had been was now only a little distaste. He might as well have been kissing a couple of worms.

The night before, he had promised Bolychetta that he would go to the next Les Amis de l’ABC meeting. Over a week ago, after the movie was over and everyone had left, he ended up telling them what he had overheard Floreal, Cosette, and Marius discuss earlier that day. They were sympathetic and comforting and made Grantaire feel less like he was falling apart. But after a few days of avoidance, they started to encourage him to go back, face his fears, and not let Enjolras keep him away. And so he finally agreed and had, not a nightmare exactly, but an unsettling dream that left him feeling empty and vaguely dissatisfied, and brought back all the fears and worries. It could be his subconsciousness telling him how bad of an idea it was, but the irrational side of Grantaire’s mind feared that it was an omen.

His mind was so on edge that he hadn’t been able to focus on anything that day. Sometimes, he was very good at ignoring his problems until the last minute, but this was not one of those times. And it was easy to blame the dream for starting him on the wrong foot that day. He wondered if it was too late to back out, now that he had agreed.

“I don’t think tonight is the best night to go back,” Grantaire blurted out as Bolychetta started getting ready to leave. His stomach was clenching, and suddenly his breaths were shorter and shallower.

Musichetta glared at him. “You promised you would. You can’t back out now.”

“We already went through the arguments last night,” Bossuet said reasonably. “And they worked then. So if you just come, we can save time by not going over them again.”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Grantaire said.

“Is there something wrong with today?” Joly asked, no judgement in his voice. “Because if you have a reason, then not going today is fine. Even if it’s nerves, if you think that you’ll be readier at a different time, we won’t push you into anything. But if it’s not that, then it won’t be any less terrifying tomorrow. It would be better to just get it over with.”

Which was a good point. Grantaire could hardly say that he’d had a bad dream caused by anxiety which scared him into wanting to back out. And what did he have to lose?

(Everything. He had everything to lose.)

“Look,” Musichetta said, as if reading his thoughts. “Whatever happens you know that we’ll be there for you. To take your side, or help you clean up the mess, or whatever else.”

“Help me avoid him?” he asked. “I’m not ready for that.”

“We promise,” Bossuet said, gently laying a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Just say the word, and we can all leave, whenever you want,” Joly added, reiterating the conditions they had agreed on the previous night.

“Okay then,” Grantaire said reluctantly. He took a deep breath, trying to breathe stability back into his shaky limbs.

So, trying not to think of anything but Musichetta’s complaints about a couple of rude customers she had to deal with, he walked with Bolychetta to the the Red and Black Cafe, a hipster place where they often held meetings. It was not their official meeting spot, as their ties to the owners were not that strong, but to Grantaire, it might as well be. Technically, it was simply a gathering of friends, but when all those friends were in the same club and met regularly at one place to discuss club-related things, the only difference was in officiality. Discussions tended to be held in smaller groups too, as only so many people could fit around one table, and shouting across the room was inconvenient.

Grantaire had found the cafe many years ago, soon after moving to Portland, but it wasn’t until he joined Les Amis and realized that it was the perfect spot for them that he started going more frequently. It was a comfortable place with warm lighting and a nice community. But more than that, it had a vegan menu, was a safe space for the LGBT+ community, and served local and organic drinks, supporting local farmers and businesses. They hosted events of the kind that Les Amis were interested in, or at least supported politically. He had first heard the cafe described to him as radical and anarchist, and there truly was no place better for Les Amis.

Enjolras was there, to no surprise, but Grantaire kept clear him for most of the meeting. At least, until the end, just as he was going to step out the door. There, Enjolras somehow convinced him, against all logic and reason, to talk with him. (Maybe Joly was right, part of him had thought. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. He wouldn’t be any more ready for this discussion tomorrow or the the day after or any future time. And he couldn’t avoid Enjolras forever.)

Grantaire followed the other man to one of the tables with high-backed seats in the corner where they could have the most privacy. Everything in him was racing, begging him to run. He thought he could feel his blood rushing around his body, his heart was pounding so hard. His stomach was a tense knot of dread.

“What did you want to say?” Grantaire asked, rather shortly, because Enjolras was taking too long to say anything and now that he started, he wanted this to be done as soon as possible.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Enjolras started after another moment of hesitation. He played with his fingers nervously, intertwining and twisting them. “I don’t want to hurt you or mess up our new relationship. But I think not saying anything would be worse.”

So far, so bad, Grantaire thought with bitter hysteria.

“I like you,” Enjolras started, and panic flooded Grantaire so hard that he missed the second half of the sentence: “but not romantically.”

Grantaire might have fled. He was on the verge of doing so. But enough of him started paying attention that he did catch Enjolras say, “I’m aromantic. That means that I don’t-”

“Wait,” Grantaire interrupted, mind reeling and emotions thrown off track. His thoughts stumbled over themselves, backtracking, trying to figure out what Enjolras had just said. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t process it, couldn’t line the concepts up in a way that made sense. “You don’t like me romantically. Because you’re aromantic.”

“Yes.” Enjolras had been looking at his fingers during the conversation, but now he glanced up. “I’m really sorry,” he said, misinterpreting Grantaire’s confusing emotions. “Not sorry that I’m aro, I mean, but, well, you know.”

Grantaire wanted it to be true so badly. It would be perfect because then there was no chance of his fear becoming real, but it couldn’t be true. Things didn’t come that easily. “Floreal said you were hopelessly in love with me,” he said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.

Enjolras looked briefly puzzled, then guilty. “She was mistaken. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not. I never was, and I never will be. I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking as uncomfortable as Grantaire had felt a minute before.

“No,” Grantaire said. He didn’t know what to say, only that he had to stop Enjolras’s misplaced guilt. “You don’t understand. It’s  _ good  _ you don’t feel that way. I can’t describe how relieved I am!”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, stunned. “What do you mean? Bahorel and Floreal were so certain you liked me. And I thought... but never mind.”

“They weren’t entirely wrong,” Grantaire said. “I like you that way. Well, sort of, but, no offense, I’d rather eat a thousand live spiders than date you.”

“None taken,” Enjolras said automatically, but he still looked confused.

“I’m lithromantic,” Grantaire explained. Each confession, each coming out, in this conversation and in all other ones felt like diving into a lake. Leading up to the moment was fear and doubt until he decided to not think and just do it, then an instant of terror while falling, and then a cool, dreamy weightlessness for a second, before reality pushed back, but this time much lighter than before. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and felt so much better afterwards. Things after that could go any direction, depending on the person’s response, but for that second, he floated on a high of relief.

“Uh, I’m sorry. What does that mean? I know I’ve heard it before but I don’t remember all the definitions and things.”

“I feel romantic attraction until someone starts liking me back,” he said, giving a dictionary definition because that was all the explanation he could summon words for at the moment. Explaining how that fit with him could quite possibly take hours.

“Oh. So you don’t want anything from me?” Enjolras clarified.

“That would be ideal. People liking me romantically has never ended well for anyone involved.”

“What about friendship? Do you... would you want that with me?”

“Do you?”

“I think so, yes. You’re a very different person from me, and I didn’t understand that at first, so I acted badly, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t think I really understand you now but I think that I could.”

“But I’ll still like you romantically though. I’ll blush and feel fluttery and all that around you.” Too romantic for a friendship, too platonic for a romantic relationship, Grantaire thought, remembering a crush from high school that didn’t want to be friends with him after he found out how Grantaire really felt. Grantaire hadn’t known he was lithro at the time and homophobia (though the boy claimed otherwise) might have played a part, so this was a very different situation. But still. He couldn’t imagine a happy relationship of any kind with someone he liked romantically.

“It’s not the romance part I mind,” Enjolras said. “It was that I thought you wanted something that I couldn’t give you. I wasn’t going to make myself do something that I would hate, something that is very not me, but I didn’t want to hurt you. And I don’t have much experience dealing with this kind of thing so I have no idea how to. I was scared I would mess up, so that’s why I was so nervous and uncomfortable.”

“I was nervous too, and I didn’t want to talk to you, because Floreal said something, and I thought you liked me romantically,” Grantaire said, feeling that he owed an explanation too. Though something wasn’t right about that. Why had Floreal said that she heard Enjolras say he liked Grantaire romantically since that was so clearly untrue? “I’ve had bad experiences in the past and I was scared that this would end up as badly, or worse, because we have so many friends that would get involved. So I avoided you. Because I wouldn’t be able to love you back.”

“You don’t owe people your love.”

“I know,” Grantaire said. “Musichetta tells me that. It’s just, it’s harder to actually accept that.”

“It’s good advice,” Enjolras agreed, “And like all good advice, it’s difficult to follow. Like, I apologized way too many times when I was trying to tell you that I was aro, even though it’s not my fault or something I want to change about me. I was nervous.” He smiled sheepishly at Grantaire, inviting him to share in the joke. Grantaire, a little startled, smiled back. The feelings of giddy happiness that he felt at being on good enough terms to smile at a joke about something like that with Enjolras were probably disproportionately large, but he was also still wrapped up in his relief, so he forgave himself.

“But you never answered my question about friendship,” Enjolras said.

“I think so. I mean I think I want it. I don’t know if it could work, but it it did, that would be good. It would be great.”

“Good,” Enjolras said. “Then we can move past this awkward mess? I mean, not completely forget about it, but just continue on?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras beamed as if all the world's problems had been solved. Grantaire’s heart gently clenched and he couldn’t help but grin back.

...

After some more discussion and some plans to meet again, Grantaire made his way to the front of the Red and Black Cafe, feeling a million times lighter than his earlier walk from there. Not everything he wanted to say, or knew needed to be discussed, was said but there would be far more opportunities to do so. Bolychetta were waiting, and their concern evaporated when they saw he was clearly better than okay.

“What happened?” Musichetta asked as they all started walking back home.

“Enjolras is aro,” Grantaire said, grinning. He looked up at the sky, what little he could see of it, from between the tree branches which arched over the street in a tunnel-like fashion. If his life was a romance novel, it would be glittering and full of stars to match his mood, but instead, it was rather cloudy. Though, even without the clouds, few stars could be seen with all the light pollution anyway. And of course no romance novel would end like this. But, to his surprise, that didn’t matter to him. His life, his relationships, his feelings, they didn’t match up with the normality that society expected of him, but he felt happy. Which was all that counted at the moment. And though he knew it couldn’t last forever, for now, it was wonderful.

“So no romance?” Joly asked.

“Nope!”

“Good! Did you work things out?” Musichetta said.

“I think so.”

“I’m proud of you for talking to him. That was very brave.” Bossuet smiled at him. Grantaire turned a little red, embarrassed but pleased at their concern and joy for him.

“Yeah, I’m glad things ended up well,” Grantaire said, though he knew that there was still something unfinished, something that didn’t quite add up.

When he got home, he called Floreal. “Why did you tell me that Enjolras was in love with me?”

“Hello? Is this Grantaire?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I... What do you mean?” she asked.

“You knew I was there when you had that conversation with Marius and Cosette a week or two ago. Because what you said, that Enjolras said he was in love with me and that Courfeyrac knew, that’s all wrong. And Enjolras seemed pretty convinced by you and Bahorel that I was in love with him, so I bet Bahorel was in on the plan too. To set us up or something. You spread false information where we both heard, and I can’t think of any other reason why you would.”

“You’ve answered your original question there,” Floreal said, no longer pretending to not know what he was talking about. “Though Bahorel wasn’t involved, or at least not knowingly. And he was pretty positive that you said you were in love with Enjolras, so not all the information was false.”

“I didn’t really answer my question. I still don’t understand why.” Though true, Floreal’s attempts at justifying herself made him irrationally irritated.

“Why what?”

“Why did you want to make us get together? Why did you think it would work? Just, why?”

“Because you would be good for each other. Balance each other out, like yin and yang. And it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with him but were too afraid to say anything. I wanted both of you to be happier. And, well, it worked in Much Ado About Nothing.”

“And we couldn’t have been good for each other or happier as friends? And did you ever consider that Enjolras might not like me back that way or I might not want a relationship? And is Shakespeare honestly the guy you want to take your romantic scheming ideas from?”

“Look. I’m sorry for going behind both of your backs. But it seemed like the best thing to do. But hasn’t it helped somehow? Bahorel saw you having a conversation with him.”

Grantaire didn’t even want to ask why she knew that. “Not in the way you were expecting. And it would have caused a lot less stress and panicking if you had just told us to talk or something.”

“Next time, then,” Floreal said. Grantaire hoped there never would be a next time.

“And we were already on that path to being closer. Everything would have worked out in time,” Grantaire said. He knew that at this point, he was just complaining to let his frustrations out on Floreal. He felt that he had a valid excuse, but still, it was crossing the line from genuine reproaching to annoying whining.

“I shouldn’t have done that then,” Floreal said placatingly.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Grantaire hung up, feeling like he was being childishly petty. Maybe she didn’t deserve all his anger, just a better explanation of why what she did was wrong. But Grantaire didn’t want to forgive so easily yet. He would talk to Enjolras later, he decided. He would be so furious. Enjolras had a right to know too, and they would figure out what to do together.

It was amazing that he could even think that sentence and have it be true, Grantaire thought. That he and Enjolras could do something  _ together _ . That they could do it, and Grantaire didn’t have to worry about having romance being involved. Despite the questionable ethics of what Floreal had done, things were undeniably better now (though Grantaire would maintain that they could have gotten there on their own). Grantaire still didn’t believe in lasting happiness, but maybe Musichetta hadn’t been entirely wrong when she said that things would get better.

**Author's Note:**

> The Red and Black cafe was a real cafe in Portland, and is more or less how I described it (though I’ve never been there, so all the information comes from the internet). However, it was closed down very recently. I set this story in Portland because the cafe is kind of perfect for Les Amis (it’s name even fits the musical!) but it ended up not being as involved as I planned.
> 
> This was inspired by this tumblr post, though this doesn't follow it exactly: http://psychotichamlet.tumblr.com/post/97247113039/okay-okay-but-hear-me-out-on-this-one-if-you-like
> 
> If you like the idea behind this fic, I have another story, Mistaken Relation, that’s kind of similar. It’s about Eponine and Grantaire and focuses less on muddling through relationships and feelings and more on being angry at the idea of setting people up.


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